


Warrior's Judgement

by Fenris30



Category: Virtua Fighter, Virtua Fighter Series
Genre: Action, Cyberpunk, Fighting, Fighting Game, Gen, Martial Arts, Video Game, Violence, noir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenris30/pseuds/Fenris30
Summary: Having been brainwashed, enhanced, and turned into a relentless killer, Jean Kujo was J6's next human weapon to send into the tournament. With no memory except for how to destroy his foes and whatever he learned while he was there, he was finally set on some test battles...most of the scientists in charge of him pleased with their results.One lone scientist, who designed some of J6's more powerful enhancements, is now riddled with guilt...Faint memories of other people enter in and out of Jean's mind-people who had wronged him, but also his targets...and only time will tell if he can truly break free from their grasp...In the city, a rage-filled judoka named Goh has managed to work his way into a criminal syndicate, his skills well-used. He had failed J6 once...what would become of him?





	1. Prologue

_Early Spring, 20XX, a J6 research compound._

 

\--

 

The scientist sighed, stubbing out another cigarette and taking a sip of coffee that was on the desk next to him, shuddering. It went cold and was shockingly bitter, but he would take anything right now.

He scratched his head-he was a middle aged, slightly balding man with a thin mustache and the look of someone who maybe slept four hours a night at best-adjusted his glasses, and settled back into his worn seat.

The scientist's name was Johnson, and he had worked with this organization for almost two decades. He was not a bad man. He did not particularly aim to cause suffering, but sadly, like many of his kind years back, he was fooled into a line of work that promised prestige and money. He got them both...though at the cost of several pieces of his soul in the process. Judgement 6 did not let their workers go easily, he found out the hard way; indentured servitude with J6 was for life. He was simply too privy to too much delicate information. Nowadays he was no longer a thirty-something scientist enjoying his new-found prestige; he was nearing fifty, lived on whatever food they served in the machines at the lab, and had tended to hit the drink a little more often than not to try to take care of the stress and drown any guilt that might try to creep up on him.

But, life moved on.

It was another testing day in the lab, and today's would be quite a special one; one of their particularly advanced augmented assassins would be going against a souped-up warrior from a rival mega-corporation. This could mean-should things go pear-shaped-a lot of time and money down the drain. Along with some asses on plates.

Many asses on plates, likely including his own, since he spearheaded his particular project a long time ago.

J6 did not have the greatest track record. While they raked in money with all sorts of illegal international arms deals, weapons smuggling, chemical weapons, bio-engineering and gods knew what else, they had a bit of trouble when it came to other areas. They lost, misplaced, or had fail several attempts at making some superior assassins. They would often kidnap people, try different ways of augmenting them at least somewhat, brainwash them, and attempt to get them to do their bidding, but something would always go wrong. Recently, one Goh Hinogami-a brutal, relentless judoka who seemingly reveled in carnage-failed to kill one of his targets in the tournament that they put him in.

He was now AWOL.

Goh and another man-who would be getting tested today-were probably the most enhanced to his recent memory, as they had been kidnapped young; barely into their teens.

Goh in particular went through a lot of still untested procedures that likely left him in the state he was in now. He still regret that to this day...but he also noticed that the new head scientist-a man Jenner, who was more than a bit amoral and related to one of the executives-a nephew, if he recalled-was quite into the more extreme levels of experimentation. Jenner had a sadistic side and cared little if subjects died on the table, so long as he got results. He had taken over the last head of the department, who mysteriously died about a year ago; he had his fingers in things for much longer than that, though.

This was not discussed, not even out of hearing. Walls and ears.

Goh was one of Johnson's. Well, not just his-he and his entire team, and this fellow was one of theirs, too; and this project was even more intense. Their team was worn down-it was quite taxing as often these procedures didn't take.

He couldn't shake his regret toward Goh, even though he had been one of their greatest overall successes. He had a feeling they had let a psychopath loose on the world when he had escaped, but given this man was supposed to go hunt him down and keep him in check, he tried not to think about it. He had never seen what Goh did to his opponents; he never asked. Out of sight, out of mind and all of that. He heard enough of the stories to make him shudder. Supposedly one underworld crime syndicate had an near-unstoppable enforcer and several others were down a whole lot of members. He was a scientist that while he was no stranger to surgical procedures, he generally had no stomach for violence.

The particular young man whom would be getting tested today was the other one of theirs. His name was Jean Kujo; a karateka who had received some of their most new and advanced procedures. Jean was a large man; seeing him next to the other fighters he was several inches taller than most, had long, white hair, fair skin, and a somewhat cold demeanor most of the time. He suspected the enhancements they gave him had made him distant. 

Still, he loved to fight, and his violent nature would come through in the middle of one. He was brutally strong-the tests they put him through showed as much, and he even broke one of the machines used to test the power of his blows when he hit it with a particularly nasty kick. They had, besides some of the chemical enhancements-ones that were much better developed than the ones they had tested on Goh-began to weave a sort of flexible steel into his muscle fiber, able to store kinetic energy if he 'wound up' properly, to let loose with a far, far greater force than a human should be capable of; they also allowed him to take blows better. It was a new technique, and Jean was actually fully grown by the time they had tried it; he was the first, and today it would be seen if it worked out in anger. 

In addition, they had implanted several sort of synaptic boosts down his spinal cord to increase his reaction; while this didn't necessarily make the menacing fighter more agile, he was better able to intercept an opponent's attacks. Other odds and ends included balance augmenters that helped him keep his feet better, enabling him to fight well with less fear of being tripped up.

It was a _lot_ of work, and for now, it seemed promising.

_I hope he works out, anyway._

Lightning another cigarette and taking another sip of his horrible, cold coffee he stood, throwing on his lab coat and going into the other room; there was a smaller room in this one, separated by thick clear layered bulletproof ballistic glass.

This was their combat simulation chamber.

The other man was already in; perhaps just under six feet, he looked maybe thirty; rather innocuous, with short-cropped brown hair and brown eyes. He was wearing what seemed to be military fatigues, leather gloves, and boots. Other scientists were in the room, waiting to see what would become of this. The other man looked unmodified, but from what he understood, had genetic and chemical engineering to enhance his abilities. He wondered how he managed to keep such a normal looking appearance, and wondered about their level of knowledge.

Jean soon walked in. He wore his hair down as usual, and a dark blue tattered gi; he seemed fond of this one despite the fact it was battle-worn. The arms were tattered up past the elbows, and legs were tattered well above his ankles; rope was worn around his waist for a belt. He wore dark blue and white, fingerless gloves on his hands, his feet were bare save for black instep guards. He stretched, looking over at the rest of the men, nodding. He smiled slightly, loosening up his limbs for the fight.

While he lacked Goh's sheer bloodthirst, Jean loved to overpower his opponents with crushing blows. His style focused more on powerful strikes; he would occasionally unleash a flurry of surprising speed for someone of his size, though it was clear he favored strength. He was no unrefined brute, however; he was incredibly skilled, clearly having trained before he was even kidnapped, and then continuing on under J6.

Once he started, it was hard to pull him off; certainly he would be what they needed in an assassin. Unlike some of the others, it seemed that he was given very little to emotion otherwise; he also seemed to follow orders nicely. Johnson knew there was more too him, though; it sort of disturbed him the rest never really got to know these subjects. He knew Jean as someone who, in his dormitory-locked with a special code with several thick doors, as all the subjects lived in-enjoyed often listening to his heavy metal music with headphones, as well as literature, when he wasn't giving himself to training. He did not speak much, but he had some more aspects to his personality than the other scientists would believe. Before Jenner had decided to start cutting down contact with the subjects-for 'conditioning' reasons', he said-Johnson would go to his room to meet him in a strategy game of sorts. He was sad when they decided to cut off said contact, as Johnson thought it humanized their 'weapons' more. 

Which Jenner thought was the problem, he knew. 

This would be Johnson's first time witnessing one of these battles, and he had to admit-he was mildly excited to see it. Despite his dislike of violence, he had developed several of these cybernetic procedures, and he was excited to see how they would work in a live situation.

He would also feel a measure of relief, as the sooner they could retire some of these much touchier chemical procedures, the better; they were simply too erratic to rely on, he felt. Not that it kept Jenner from continuing to order it, of course.

When the men were lined up by the window-Johnson, Jenner, and two men from the rival mega-corp, Jenner nodded toward the two on the inside. “Begin,” he said, an evil smirk on his face.

They took poses; Jean a tall, wide pose, his hands up, ready to either block or strike, depending on his opening. The other man took a pose a bit lower to the ground; he wasn't quite sure of what style he was. Johnson didn't really know styles unless they were told to him.

They circled; darting back and forth, checking each other with quick jabs. The other man was moving a bit faster, he could tell; he was likewise a bit more maneuverable in his ducking and weaving, almost like some of his style he had studied was boxing, but he was also doing a few leg strikes here and there. He had a feeling Jean was stronger, though, and must have had at least six inches of reach on the other man.

Some blows hit; some punches, kicks, knees, and elbows, from both sides, though they were more than glancing. Jean was rather good at keeping the other man out, he noticed; he simply had more arm-length and his long legs would lash out in kicks that the other man would leap back to steer clear of. He may not have known anything about fighting, but he felt that Jean was controlling the pace of this match.

Finally, he saw Jean duck a high elbow before he came up with a high spinning roundhouse kick that Johnson could tell had a ton of power behind it. It seemed to only tag the other man in the mouth thanks to a quick dodge, however...but Jean's strength was frightening. What seemed to be a simple strike resulted in several teeth flying out and a stream of blood hitting the glass. The rival corporation's scientist stepped back suddenly, looking a bit shocked at what he saw-if a blow that Jean did not even seem to put even a quarter of his strength into could do that, what would a full-strength strike do?

He waved his hands, seemingly giving in. “That...will be enough.”

Jenner grinned coldly. “Will it, now.”

The man blinked. “That's enough. Call it off.” His voice sounded on edge.

“If your man is that good, a little blood shouldn't matter.” He adjusted the pens in the pocket of his lab coat. "If your enhancements are as good as you say, he should be able to come back, no? These assassins will have to potentially face many more enemies at once." He turned again toward Jean, who had paused to circle the man who was knocked to his knees, spitting blood into the floor. “Continue.”

The rival looked surprised, but could do nothing in this situation; Jenner was right-if they couldn't stand behind their procedures, then what good were they?

The fighter they brought looked startled, though stood up to continue. Blows were traded again back and forth, and while Jean showed some signs of battle with a small trickle of blood from his mouth and things that would become bruises on his body, the other man was _not_ looking good. His being enhanced was likely the only thing keeping him running, coupled with evading most of the moves rather than blocking them, but the ones that tagged him clearly hurt.

Johnson's stomach sank. Jean's eyes looked halfway between enjoying his time in combat and simply not caring. To him, fighting was fighting, and orders were orders; he would enjoy fighting while he followed his orders. This man's life meant nothing to him, he knew. That was how they formed Jean after they brainwashed him.

The place grew decidedly bloodier; a fierce punch struck the man in his cheek, no doubt breaking it by the sound and the look; as he stumbled back, Jean gathered up strength and punched him in the chest with a straight punch that had such force behind it Johnson heard the ribs crack.

He was impressed the other man still tried to stand...and succeeded, though he spat a lot more blood out onto the ground; he wondered how he could breathe after those blows to his chest. He fumbled another cigarette out of the pack, finding himself extremely nervous at the moment. Whatever they had done to this man, they had given him an amazing endurance to still look like he was ready to try to fight some more.

With a yell, Jean ran, crouched low, and came up with a quick hand strike; the man was knocked back slightly, though even that light strike was enough to make him spit more blood. He noticed Jean was then seemingly winding up for another attack. The man seemed confused; he didn't know whether to back off, block or strike when Jean leapt, ferociously kicking him square in the side of the face with a blow that resulted in a loud and sickening _crunch._

Johnson noticed that was the same attack that he had used that broke the machine they had to test him, so he had an idea of just how powerful it was.

Blood flew everywhere, and while the man was not dead, he span around from the blow for a moment, stumbling against the class and putting his hands against it, smearing even more blood around. 

Half of his face was ruined; if the previous punch to the face broke several bones, the power of this kick shattered even more. The half that was just hit was a misshapen mask of blood, part of his forehead was caved in, and worst of all the eye on that side was now barely being held into its socket. Johnson's heart raced-his previous excitement to see the battle long gone and replaced with a dizzying dread, apprehension...and a sick sort of regret. He almost wished this man had _not_ been enhanced; he would be mercifully dead at this point.

The man's good eye seemed to be staring at all of them with a hatred...including his own men, almost asking why they let him stay in there. It glared again directly into him, and Johnson was unable to look away as much as he wanted to. He almost felt like he deserved this.

_I made this._

As if to punish him more, he saw the man trying to speak...but nothing that made sense could come out. _He can't form words. Not with that sort of damage._ His thoughts were strictly scientific, but in his gut he felt horror.

Jenner folded his arms. “End it.”

Jean walked forward, grabbing the man so hard by the arm it snapped in two; as it dangled loosely in his iron grip, he wound is hand back, smashing his fist down in the mans face twice, blood flying out with each hit, splashing even more on the floor, window, his pale skin and in his hair. He pushed him against the wall with a front kick to his broken ribs; he then punched him several more times before leaping and kicking him in the head with a leaping crescent kick that actually put Jean himself on the ground from the force. This final blow threw an enormous wash of blood over the window in front of the scientists.

Johnson suspected he was dead before all of this, but that last blow certainly did it if he hadn't been.

Jenner smiled. “Johnson, you guys did perfectly with this one.” The blood ran down the window as they spoke.

Jean rolled and stood, looking at the men, taking quick fighting pose for a moment before nodding his head. His face, hair, hands, feet and chest were spattered in blood, but he thought nothing of it. He had killed with his bare hands before.

Johnson looked at the corpse on the ground; he had unfortunately fallen on his side rather than face down. He was a complete ruin; his arm openly shattered, his chest obviously pulverized, and his face a mask of blood and bone. Those last blows had opened up his head.

_It only took him this long because this man had been enhanced himself, remember. If this had been a regular human..._

Johnson put out the cigarette in one of the tall ashtrays they had scattered around, nodding to the other men. He was shaking, trying not to throw up. _I've done this for ages. Almost two decades. But I've never seen what really happens. Sure, some died on the table, but it was medical. They just never woke up._

_What have I made? Most of the others weren't this powerful. Goh even lost to a man in the tournament. The race-car driver. Albeit our techniques were not perfected yet. Plus they set him loose in the tournament before the chemicals could fully affect him._

_But now...what sort of weapon did we arm them with?_

“There might be something in this for you, Johnson,” Jenner replied, the grin on his face rather large, and the look on his face that of triumph; finally this assassin seemed to be the one they needed. The other scientist from the rival organization was pale and shaking himself, even worse than Johnson.

_I...need to be alone._

–

There were folders. Lots of folders. Folders of deceased who never made it through the testing.

The two he had in his hands right now were Goh Hinogami's and Jean Kujo's. He was reading them rather thoroughly again, as it had been awhile. He had replaced his coffee with whiskey, as he felt like he needed it; besides this he had taken half a downer that he dug out of the cabinet. Only half, since he wanted to be able to think at least somewhat.

It would also give him some courage for tonight.

Several days had passed since the first horrible test. There had been a two more, both of them rather terrible as well; both of those men ended up dead, their bodies ending up on the ground broken in front of Jean by the end of the fight...but none that haunted him as much as that first one. He wasn't sure what it was, but he supposed having a man staring at him with an agonizing hatred as his other eye practically dangled from its socket from a mask of blood had a _whole_ fucking lot to do with it. Johnson knew he was probably staring at the lot of them, but he was the one standing there. He may- _may_ have been able to handle that...barely, had the man not tried to speak.

He shook his head, sipping more whiskey, trying to numb himself. He felt responsible for everything this week and everything that would happen with their new assassin. Out of sight, out of mind...that was a nice state of mind to be in that he knew he'd never get back.

Goh's folder was almost a horror to look through. So much testing, so many deaths, though he did not bear witness to these personally. He had struck out and killed J6 workers before. His combat style was completely brutal and unforgiving, and he thought nothing of human life. However, there was something with Goh; as much as he loved carnage-he loved something more; Hating J6. His hatred of this corporation was more than his love of general carnage...if anything giving him dirt on J6 meant he could destroy what he hated most. He had not seen nor heard from the young man in a year at least, however; part of the reason Jean was so important to them was that he would be used to both hunt down the rogue judoka and to do what he could not. He had to wonder, though. Goh he felt only lost because they sent him out too soon. The chemicals they used needed time to work. The Goh out there now-assuming he was indeed alive-would potentially be much more enhanced. 

Taking another drink, he put his cigarette back into his mouth and opened Jean's folder.

It was no less terrible. Two parents, two older siblings. Captured in his early teens, and his family confirmed dead in the explosion of his house. He had no memory of any of this, of course, after the brainwashing. Had ties to the Rafale boy, whose father was a massive benefactor to their organization, though unlikely to remember anything. 

He looked through all of his work; the things they had done to him. Johnson's research had proved to be amazing, and Jenner-as well as more higher ups-couldn't wait to put it to use for more. The brainwashing and whatever else they gave Jean would keep him fairly under control, allowing them to use him as a much more effective assassin. They didn't plan on losing this one.

_Plans could go awry, though._

He wasn't sure of the risk. Knowing Goh's state of mind, he wondered if he were better under J6's control or not, but after witnessing everything he had this week, he thought he was better on his own. In Jean's case he would be almost sure of it. Jean loved fighting to be sure, and he thought almost nothing of killing an assigned target-sometimes brutally-but he did not particularly seem to seek out the act of killing for fun. He listened to orders, but if there were no one giving him those orders, he would be free to choose what he would want to do. Johnson felt he would possibly choose to simply live how he wanted.

He _hoped_. He was banking on gut instinct for all of this. If he was wrong, well...the seat in Hell was already waiting for him, so he reckoned it couldn't get much worse.

Johnson assembled Jean's folder again, making sure everything was in neat, chronological order, along with a handwritten note. He then put a small sticker on the side to seal it shut somewhat, placing it on his desk.

He poured himself another glass of whiskey, lighting yet another cigarette. He hadn't been able to eat much in several days, so it was going to his head...but he figured it would push him the rest of the way to do what he had been considering, he thought, when he saw that first test fight earlier this week.

–

The place was fairly quiet, being a bit late. He knew his co-workers would be in their respective offices, likely figuring things out for whatever J6 was planning next. A janitor nodded toward Johnson's direction; he returned the greeting, imagining he probably looked like hell right now.

He soon reached the dormitory; a special keycard let him through two heavily reinforced doors. The building they were in was one of their research outposts; this was not one of their main corporate headquarters. J6 had a lot of buildings scattered around the world, from small to archology sized; given it was headed by several of the more powerful mega-corporate owners of the world.

He let himself inside Jean's room.

It was spartan, as they all were; Jean was laying on his bed, his tattered blue gi on, though the top was shrugged off around his waist. He had his headphones on, and Johnson could make out some rather loud and intense heavy metal music, as he usually liked to listen to. Judging by things, he had just gotten done training.

Jean looked up, removing the headphones and smiling slightly. He liked Johnson. “Anything wrong?” he asked, his voice fairly soft. He stood, towering over the scientist.

Johnson looked him up and down. A little scarred here and there-both from testing and from combat-he was nonetheless probably one of the more ideal specimens of a human. Well muscled and with an appearance that could get about anyone to turn their head, he wondered what may have became of him if J6 hadn't done what they did. He had practiced Karate since he was in the single digits, he knew-as a teen he was already amazingly skilled, and it had been ten years beyond that of even harder training, on top of everything else he had gone through. He had some bruises and marks from his bouts this week, though he seemed to heal rather quickly overall.

_It's a chance I'm going to take._

He slid the keycard in the folder that he had in his hand secretly, in the very back pocket. “I'd like you to read this. Perhaps not now. Wait a few hours.” He offered the young man a cigarette; he knew he smoked from time to time. Jean took one and lit it, though he looked a bit confused.

“Any reason?”

Johnson managed to keep his composure. “I'll let you decide.” He poked a cigarette into his own mouth. “What are you reading?”

Jean blinked, shaking his head to get back to the conversation. “Some martial arts history.”

He smiled, taking a drag of his smoke. His hand was shaking slightly. “Keep it up.” His own words sort of echoed in his head; he wasn't _quite_ sure what he was even saying anymore.

The young man laughed, sitting back down on the edge of his bed, the cigarette in his hand. He did not have the look of someone who had killed three men in 'test battles' this week. His demeanor when speaking to Johnson was perfectly cordial, even friendly; still, he always sensed that distance in him, like his mind was partially somewhere else. He wondered if he was constantly trying to almost subconsciously dredge up his own memories, or if it was a result of the enhancements that they had shoved into his body without his consent.

Shaking his head, he knew he had to get going. “Just wanted to bring that to you. I'll see you around.”

The karateka nodded. “More tests this week?”

Johnson closed his eyes. “Perhaps.” He nodded, turning to walk out. Jean spoke up again. 

"You haven't came for a game in awhile."

The older man sighed as he stopped for a moment. "We've...been busy."

"I can imagine."

"Maybe soon," he lied. He turned to nod a farewell. 

Jean watched him, slightly confused for a moment. He finally set the folder on the desk and went back to his music. 

–

Johnson went back to his office, pouring himself a massive glass of whiskey. He could feel himself rather tipsy right now; this was good. It would give him even more courage.

He turned on his terminal; the special one, the one with the _really_ important info. This computer was not connected to the net; it was too risky to keep anything of this nature online.

Having already burned several things in the other room, he went through his research-the information used to turn Jean into the man that he was-deleting things. He sped up, almost trying to run away from his past, and everything. Haunted by the deaths, haunted by what he now knew that he made and the horror of a dying young man staring at him with hatred, he continued through the folders, deleting years of work as he smoked frantically.

It didn't matter now.

As he continued to zap the files, he checked the time. It was getting late, and he had not slept in what felt like days.

He finished his whiskey, now a bit more drunk than he was when he started. Finishing his cigarette, he stubbed it out, making sure he was happy with everything he had destroyed. He opened his desk drawer afterward.

The handgun had been there for awhile. He mostly kept it there for self defense. Working for J6 could be a risky endeavor, he knew. He removed it.

Johnson knew he just sentenced about everyone in this compound to death with his actions-and he had a feeling these deaths would end up far worse than what he had witnessed over the course of this week-but he thought that maybe if his final act could be to prevent something like this from happening again for awhile-even if it were through violent means-he could rest a bit easier. He knew that there would be blood in these hallways tonight, but he forgave himself for that much.

He knew they would just go back to the research, but he could set them back. Possibly by a few years. Long enough, he hoped, maybe for people to come along to take them down.

He also thought he owed Jean for the life they had stolen from him. He wouldn't be able to give him all of his memories back-he could only fill in what happened initially and a few other odds and ends-the rest would be up to him. It was too late for all the ones that he was in charge of that died on the table, or had to be killed due to going insane. He hoped Goh was still in some decent shape out there, as well.

He could, at least, try to make one thing right after over a decade of being complicit in J6's brand of evil, which is what he was, he knew.

After his desk was straightened up to his liking, he sat back in his chair.

The gunshot was barely heard.

–

It was about three AM before Jean Kujo finished the folder, the music blaring in his ears. Violent, angry music...which matched his mood right about now.

He looked up and around the room, wanting to smash everything in sight; but it would not satisfy him right now. All that was in the room was wood and metal. Wood and metal were inanimate and did nothing to him. 

No, he wanted to smash human beings....namely some of the people working here right this instant. He went to place the folder on the desk when he felt something in the back; he flipped it open again to check it.

They keycard was smooth in his fingers, with designs on it; designs that would be read by the doors that held him in here. He lifted it up, his gray eyes examining it for a moment before tracing over to the door. He thought he had seen Johnson slide something into the folder, but he wasn't sure and didn't say anything. 

He didn't know why, but for some reason the man seemed to want to let him loose. He knew Johnson was one of the people who had developed things for him...and in more detail now, thanks to the contents of the folder. The note had clearly spelled out the man's guilt; until now, he had never actually witnessed what their research actually did. Hearing about things and witnessing things were different. 

Jean looked again at the keycard and the door. 

The sadistic smile that slowly formed on his face said everything.

 


	2. A New Beginning

It seemed the apartment's heat was broken again.

Luckily, it was spring; unluckily, it was around April, and nights could still be on the chilly side. It was evening now. Jean Kujo tended to sleep the days away anyway, going out to do his thing at night, mostly out of necessity.

After his escape from the J6 compound about a month ago-thanks in part due to a guilt-ridden scientist he had known for most of his time there-he had to lay low. He only had whatever money he got from the men he killed in the compound and that was left to him, and then supplemented it with winnings from an underground fighting ring he had discovered poking around attempting to find something to support himself with.

The shabby, yet _just_ about adequate apartment he was forced into was more due to the fact the landlord was an ask-no-question type who did not require things like ID or whatnot; he'd rent to anyone with cash in hand, nothing to it...so long as you gave him a little 'incentive'. This was not advertised; he managed to come across a few people when he stayed in a coffin hotel upon his 'release' who let him know.

On the downside, the repair of the place was something that he kept just enough in check that it didn't result in people coming in to snoop around; things like the heat breaking randomly or leaks were commonplace. It didn't smell all that bad, all told, mostly of whatever ramen noodles or other cheap dishes the tenants cooked.

The tenants ranged from down-on-their luck folks to petty criminals, or the occasional drug dealer, though nothing much more than a corner dealer. No one bothered Jean, though; he was large, imposing, and one glare from his eerie gray eyes were usually enough to get people to steer clear.

Jean sat up, wearing only his slightly frayed jeans, which he had fallen asleep in. He had decided to go drink a few the night before at one of the seedy bars near the ring where he would fight roughly twice a week. He was a favorite; his appearance was very different compared to the usual gritty fighter, and his enhancements-which he didn't ask for, but he used gladly-allowed him to crush unaugmented people as if they were made of cheap plastic.

Cheap plastic that bled everywhere, of course, but people that came to these things just loved a violent show, and tended to throw around a lot of money toward him, so he was able to put cash away for continued living expenses and hopefully something more if he managed to lay low long enough. His style was not as flashy as his appearance, but the straightforward, crushing kicks, punches and blows that he favored were extremely effective. 

He figured J6 would certainly be trying to track him down, likely to brainwash him all over again. Despite the fact he killed off a lot of rather good scientists, he was far more valuable to them alive than dead.

It was blood money he earned, sure, but he was not particularly a sensitive type...no thanks to what J6 had done to him. The way he figured it, the people there were there of their own accord in the first place. He would fight in any tournament; the major one was not to the death, but given that one had J6's fingerprints all over it, he thought perhaps steering clear was in his best interest for now.

He dare not attempt to get anything better at the moment, though, when it came to his living arrangements.

Running his hands though his long, silvery-white hair, he smoothed it down and sighed. He wanted a cigarette, he wanted a cup of coffee, and he wanted to get something to eat. He was close enough to several noodle shops and twenty-four hour diners, one of which he could go for right about now. He had his own supply of fare-mostly dehydrated and from packages-but he didn't really feel like cooking at the moment. Throwing on the first shirt he came across-a dark purple, loose tank top-he headed into the kitchen.

Jean tried to recall a few things from his past as he milled around-anything to start setting him on _some_ sort of path.

He didn't remember much. Anything he knew that happened to him before he was captured was a blur; the folder Johnson gave him covered a bit of it...things like the family that he no longer had. It angered him that he had no memory of them except for a few pictures that were in his information; it was like he had never known them, despite clearly having been raised by them the first thirteen or so years of his life. 

 _They had me there for seven years...I think._ He wasn't even sure of his exact age, but around twenty seemed about right. That made him angry as well; how fucked up _was_ it when you couldn't even tell someone how old you were for sure? 

One thing he took away at least-he had liked Johnson. He didn't blame him. When he found him in his office with the self-inflicted bullet to his temple, he took the gun out of his hand gently, closed his eyes, and covered him with his lab coat. He had allowed himself to get bought into something he didn't know about like others.

In fact it wasn't the rank-and-file scientists he was after. Most of them weren't even there at that time. Nor was it the janitor, or any other small fry. He knew, thanks to the notes, which ones to go after...and go after he did. They tended to stay late, and they tended to have the best offices, and he even had a nice list of some of the men.

The newspaper-who he suspected were somewhat paid off by J6, who had their hands in everything-had discussed several murders at a compound a couple of days later. Not too many details were given except for some quotes; some of which included vague details about how whatever had killed the men had to have been something far beyond human, given the shape of the bodies, though for all intents and purposes the evidence had pointed toward a human. The investigators who first got there had the images of their smashed-in skulls burned into their minds and the amount of blood that had been tracked everywhere in the place. The death of one man, presumably a nephew of one of the relatives of one of the higher-ups in the megacorporation, had been particularly grisly and not much was said of it. Jenner, the name was.

Jean thought he had simply proven to them their research had been effective.

Splashing some water on his face, he went to get some coffee going. The place had at least come with basic amenities, but was otherwise quite spartan. Not that he minded. He was used to very little. He had only brought with him some things he had gathered from the dorm he stayed in. Some of his favorite clothing and a few odds and ends, including the chess set he and Johnson had played on from time to time, his headphone and music player.

After he had broken who he had wanted to, he had left the compound. It had been chilly-he wore only the tattered blue gi he had trained in-but he barely noticed. The spring rain washed the blood from him as he sat outside. The night was in bits and pieces to him, as the enhancements they had given him tended to screw with his memory. He remembered setting Johnson to rest, and he remembered a lot of the darker individuals in charge spewing blood as he beat them savagely but that was about it.

He tried to keep control of the temper that the lack of memory could set off. He would sometimes struggle to remember something from a week before, only for it to come back later. He had no idea if this would go away or not; human beings were not meant to be brainwashed and then have metal shoved into them.

As the coffee brewed, he leaned against the kitchen wall as he slid the first cigarette of the day into his mouth.

Jean had been left a fair chunk of cash from Johnson as well-given what he did that night, he wasn't going to need it. It was enough to get him situated along with the rest he had picked up, but until he had found the bloodsport ring he was wondering what the hell someone like him could actually do that was out of the way. Given he was kidnapped and built to fight, he at least figured he could do that.

Lighting the smoke, he inhaled the scent of the brewing coffee and looked around his apartment. There was the couch he slept on-a large, battered affair that came with the place. A television set in the corner was rarely used and of questionable repair. He had gotten a disposable mobile phone in case he needed to contact the people he was in touch with in the ring. An old laptop had been procured so he could keep in touch with anything going on that he might have to know about. A threadbare chair, a basic table, and a fridge capped the place off, but it did come with a carpet, albeit one that may have had a few stains on it from gods knew what.

He had brought whatever he had with him in the compound in terms of clothing which was strewn around; Jean wasn't much for housekeeping, wondering if he used to have housekeepers to do it for him given his apparent past wealth.

Blowing a stream of smoke from his mouth, he chuckled dryly.

His family had apparently been fairly well off, though he remembered none of it. Now he was trying to figure out how to get by, though his predicament made things a bit difficult; namely that despite being highly intelligent, he had to both lay low and didn't have much in the way of skillsets that didn't have to do with, fighting, hurting and/or killing people. J6 educated him, to be sure; he was well-read and intelligent, and he could get a menial job...but given corporations had their hands in most companies, his lack of identification and well, anything...it would be highly difficult.

He planned on going out to grab a bit of food after he finished waking up; following that, he supposed he would wander about to try to dig up some information about potential work that could set him something decent while at the same time getting himself close to J6 again.

He had to lay low from them...but he wasn't letting them _go._ No, he planned on breaking many more of them before this whole thing was done, but even with the 'gifts' they gave him he couldn't take on an organization of several powerful megacorporate heads who had near-world domination powers from the front, as much as he'd like to. While he was more of an up-front fighter, he would have to use guile and subterfuge here, taking them out bit by bit.

Walking over, he threw open the living room window; the air outside wasn't the freshest around-being in a seedier part of the city-but it was nice enough to help wake him, at least. Looking out, it was still fairly light, given the time of year, but it would soon start to get dark. He was lucky that he really hadn't lived much of a normal life in awhile, for him, daytime or nighttime, it didn't matter to him. The nightlife was a little more colorful to him, between the blaring neon and the somewhat more interesting individuals he would come across.

As he wandered back to aimlessly pour his cup, he dug around for his wallet, which he had thrown on the floor next to the couch he slept on. Poking through it, he had enough, but he would likely have to book another fight soon.

Despite the illegality of such brutality that he took part in when he had to, many an authority was willing to accept money to look the other way in the sense of they were paid to not even investigate. The law enforcement, ever since more of the corporate takeovers, tended to be a tad more on the corrupt side; if something went on in a particularly seedy part of town, it just wasn't worth their time. They found their time better spent investigating robberies in the more rich side.

Still, he didn't want to count on this forever; it was a fantastic way to make enemies. Underground promoters tended to look poorly on their trained fighters being killed, fans who tended to like to bet on the other person also didn't like losing money. He had to fight off one attacker in the past month, though he decided to be merciful to him and let him live.

Drinking the coffee-he made it strong, as he would-he flipped on the TV set in the room, letting the evening news sort of ramble aimlessly in the background. Most of what was reported anymore was fairly vetted by corporations, so he imagined that nothing much of use was being said.

It felt strange to be free. He had lived the first part of his life fairly normally, though after his kidnapping and brainwashing he remembered so little that his whole life had simply been in the J6 compound. He had faint memories here and there, though he wasn't sure if they were real or fabricated.

His last jobs that had been given to him; go after the people Goh Hinogami had failed to. He had barely known Goh, as most of their test subjects were kept separately. He had seen him once or twice, perhaps, and didn't even speak to him. He also had heard mumblings that they meant him to _kill_ Goh, but he had escaped before that happened.

He had heard Goh was a bit unhinged, however, so he wasn't sure what would become of that. Johnson had mentioned in the notes that he was last heard to have been working for a criminal syndicate.

Rafale, the other name he knew...he didn't know why he wanted to chase him down. He didn't see anything in the folder, though the folder was fairly limited, despite the fact Johnson had included quite a bit.

As Jean walked back over to the window to stare out-neon signs beginning to light up on the buildings below-he did miss the old man. It was his only sort of 'friend' that he could remember. Everyone else was distant; simply seeing him as a weapon, which is what they made him as. They likely didn't want the test subjects to mingle as they probably thought they would begin to conspire against them. Johnson treated him more as a person. One of the few times he felt a bit strange was when he saw his horrified expression after he had killed the man in the test.

He had no hatred to the unfortunate man-he felt nothing toward him. Not anger, guilt, or anything. He did not try to be sadistic in this case; indeed, had he been an ordinary, non-enhanced human, he would have died quickly. His enhancement had, ironically, made things worse for him. Jean _did_ have a dark side to him that could occasionally come out in a fight, where he would get somewhat sadistic, though not nearly to the levels he heard Goh could reach. In this case, he had an order, and he followed it, only fighting with his typical style. 

Shaking his head again, he gulped down the last of the large cup of coffee and started to rummage around for a few more items. He found his thoughts occasionally running away with him more often; probably in some desperate, sub-conscious attempt to build an identity, to figure out his next steps, or _something_. Anything. Right now he simply lived from week to week with money earned from an underground fighting ring, since J6 was not hosting any tournaments at this moment, though he suspected they would call for another one soon. He figured they were probably too busy arranging for more of their global takeover.

Managing to find most of what he needed, he grabbed his pair of combat boots and his cigarettes from the table before making sure he had his keys. He was nearly starving and somewhat frustrated about his situation, and almost welcomed a ring fight tonight. He skipped his jacket, as he didn't feel like looking for it at the moment; the slightly chill air didn't bother him, though he did grab his collar. Jean had a taste for a sort of 'rocker' type of style, so he had in his clothing various collars, bracelets, and other bits of that style.

He head down the stairs and went outside; breathing in, he looked over at the horizon. Buildings choked the landscape; tall skyscrapers, smaller buildings crammed in between. The streets were fairly busy, with people heading out for the evening or home from work. Lighting his cigarette, he stared back at the sunset between the buildings; it was actually rather nice looking this evening, being fairly clear. Living most of his life in a compound, he did not get out very much, and when he did it was often either in the middle of the night or during the day, so views like this had been sparse.

Taking a cue from his stomach, he turned to head toward the general vicinity of the restaurants, as the hunger seemed to be telling him to not worry about the damned sunset. He actually didn't mind the city environment. He was so used to being 'enclosed', it felt almost comforting to him.

Checking his phone-which had no calls from the night before, he sighed before hitting the call button on his previously called number.

He uttered only one sentence when the man on the other end picked up:

“Have anyone for me tonight?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a long time coming. For a quick author's aside, I had simply been very busy the past months(okay, about eight months to be sure), and a lot of my fiction work had taken a back seat. I managed to crawl out of the break for a couple of fun one-shots, but nothing too much super-heavy except for the Raven backstory, and that actually wasn't terribly long per chapter. But, it's quite nice to be back!
> 
> Onto the fic notes:
> 
> This is, as you can see, a very slow-going fic, or more a slow-starting. Given the VF world does not have a metric ton of background to mess with, a lot of it has to be created sorta half from scratch, which is fairly challenging, but IMO leads to a more interesting 'world' overall. 
> 
> I do hope folks enjoy it, though, still! I shall continue to update it as I can. (VF is highly niche, but hopefully it spreads around a little. Maybe VF6 will be announced at some point...)

**Author's Note:**

> One man with just enough memory to know what J6 did to him now turned loose...
> 
> Virtua Fighter is one of those games with a pretty thin story and fairly light characterization. For a fanfic writer who loves the series, this is pretty fun since it lets us sort of cut a little loose with it, picking up plot bunnies and trying to form what we might think goes on behind the scenes. Many things are left open(like how exactly they enhance/brainwash the people, who works there, what else they're involved in, and so on.) Goh and Jean I always figured were some of the enhanced. 
> 
> With Jean, his 'cyberpunk' outfit-the one with the tubes and mechanics-sort of inspired me to go a bit 'cybernetic' with his enhancements, especially since he was supposed to go after Goh in the story-I can see J6 looking for new and effective ways to enhance people. His pale appearance with his white hair sorta gives him that look as well. Goh, judging by his more extreme appearance, I always pictured having some sort of 'genetech' type of enhancements, with chemical things as well; stuff that unlocked extra potential in him but left him utterly unhinged, hence his thirst for violence and destruction. Those two, IMO, always seemed like they were some of the most excessively trained and enhanced. 
> 
> Jean clearly loves to fight going by his dialogue, but generally seems colder overall...except for those odd times he gets pushed to the edge(his quotes like 'I will break you' and 'I'll pound you into foie gras', come to mind), which also, for my money, matches up with that sort of 'cybernetic' side. Cybernetically enhanced people in fiction can run cold with those small bouts of cyberpsychosis, so to speak, so this is where basically I was coming from with these two going by what little story they gave me. At the same time, he has a few lines that strike me that he's capable of having other personality bits that shine through. 
> 
> They always struck me as being 'above human potential' with some of their moves, which I wanted to make come out. (Jean in particularly comes off as brutally strong with his charged attacks.) In fact it was the charged attacks he has that made me think of the whole muscle enhancements I described. I tried to pick enhancements that fit his in-game moveset and style well(and in his preview vids Sega always emphasized his great strength.) 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the ride!


End file.
